


(forced) cohabitation

by MrsRen



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Book shops, Co-workers, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Forced Proximity, Roommates, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Violent Meet Cute, book shop
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:14:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26586439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsRen/pseuds/MrsRen
Summary: When Rey exits the foster system, she's aware of the way the earth turns upside down while leaving her in the lurch. As a stranger offers her a chance, everything is turned upright once more.But when Luke's nephew comes crashing into her life unexpectedly, Rey wonders just how long it will take for the world to turn upright again. Considering Ben is meant to be her roommate until he returns to university, she suspects it will be about that long.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 18
Kudos: 65





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mcal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mcal/gifts).



> Hi, I guess I'm trying my hand on a multi-chapter reylo now. Thank you to the two women who pre-read. I don't want to share their names here, but they know who they are. Thank you to phoenixfawkes12 for being my real life friend, and for reading this when it was only a beginning.
> 
> This is for Mae. For being my rock, my friend, and quite possibly, my other half. Thank you for being here to pick me off the ground, supporting me while I tackle original fiction and for entering new fandoms with me. I love you.

* * *

It goes something like this, like something out of a movie she's never had the time to watch, or a book she's never gotten a chance to read, or—

Fresh out of the foster care system, Rey Johnson is just another name that goes through a computer—through the too long nails on a service worker that _really_ needs a fill on her manicure—another body gone to make room for another one just like her. Or maybe the next child will be worse. Maybe they'll be better.

Maybe they'll have more of a chance than she did, and Rey hopes that's the case. Really, she does. No one deserves _this_ , the constant weight that has crashed down on her for years. Sometimes, it relents only to plummet down one more—when she's asleep—and when she wakes, the memories of homes rush into her. Her palms are clammy, her brow lined with sweat, and the secondhand blankets bunched around her, if there was enough for that to happen.

Most of the time, the blankets handed out in women's shelters were worn, small enough to cover a child but nowhere near big enough for an adult. Rey's always been small. Practically skin and bone from the time her feet hit the front porch of Jabba's scrap shop when she left and, it's been impossible to gain weight in the months since.

None of this matters, though. Not really. While someone could say that her beginnings made a difference, or that they had shaped her into who she's become, it _doesn't matter._

Rey Johnson comes from nothing.

She's nothing, in a sense, if she gives into her lesser thoughts.

Maybe that's why she's due for something else. Something happy, or a break, or at the least, a breath of fresh air, and even the thought of that is a luxury she's never had.

Job applications go unanswered for months, despite her determination. Rey's grateful to the shelter for the roof over her head, the supplies they spare, and the food they ration. Her salvation comes unexpectedly, and it's before she's had the chance to ponder what it would be like to have a place to live. Daydreams get her through the day. Every minute of every hour when Rey spends the night staring at the ceiling when she can't sleep.

After helping in the kitchen for the day during a storm that forces the homeless off the street, even for the briefest reprieve, Linda presses a crisp bill into her hand. "Take it," Linda drags her fingers through her graying hair. "I appreciate your help here today, Rey. Buy yourself something. I know you're not sleeping at night in the back of the room." With a wink and a squeeze to Rey's forearm, she's gone.

Rey's been out of the system for two months. A week past, actually and she does keep track with tally marks in a notebook she keeps in a canvas bag. In those two months, she's seen Jabba twice. Both times he's offered to let her work in his shop again, both times Rey's told him to go to hell, and the second time, she mentioned that Jabba was a ridiculous nickname.

With the money Linda had given her, tucking securely in the inner pocket of her jacket, Rey wanders down two city blocks. The strap of her bag rests down the middle of her chest, and she adjusts it repeatedly while glancing over her shoulder every few seconds. It must look strange if anyone notices her.

She's seen the bookstore a few times on her walks to the convenience store another half mile away, but that day in April is the first day she takes the time to step inside. The smell of used books greets her, with rows upon rows of shelves, and on top of those, stacks of books. There's a register on the front counter, and sitting under it, a sheet of glass that rests on top of aged wood.

Weaving her way down each aisle and allowing the tips of her fingers to brush spine after spine, Rey isn't paying attention at all when a voice cuts through the air. Rey stiffens, and glances over her shoulder. There's a man behind the counter now, and there's a book cracked open in front of him. "Hello," Rey says, her voice rough as her mouth is completely dry.

"Can I help you find anything?" He doesn't hold his gaze on her as he flips a page. The motion is easygoing, and it strikes her how relieving it is to meet a stranger who doesn't watch her closely, expecting her to steal. "I've got something of everything."

"I—" Rey swallows, tongue darting out to wet her lips. "I don't know what I'm looking for."

"How are you feeling then?" he asks then.

_What?_

"I could find something to match your mood?"

"I thought reading was a hobby meant to escape from reality." Rey manages. This man is odd. "So, I'd rather not read a sad book."

His eyebrows lift. "You're sad? Whatever for?"

"I don't think that's any of your business." She lifts her chin, and since it's tiring to speak from opposite ends of the store, Rey closes the gap that leads her to the counter. "Do you question all of your customers, or is it just me?"

"You might consider me a therapist for my customers," he waves a hand, and the other is still pressed between the pages of his book.

Rey snorts, her nose wrinkling, and she hardly recognizes the sound of a laugh. "I think that's bartenders, not book store owners."

He shrugs. "Why not both? To answer your question," comes the responding drawl "I don't question all of my customers."

If this weren't the man in front of her, Rey's certain she would be suspicious. It's several questions from a perfect stranger, a man, and she's nothing if not careful. "I see."

"I answered your question. It's only polite to answer mine." He snaps his book shut and gives Rey his full attention. To say she's sad feels like too small of a word to really describe how she feels.

There's a twinkle in his eye, and Rey isn't sure if that mischief is what calls out to her, but she opens her mouth. And once she does, there's no stopping. It pours out of her, drenching the first person to show her a kernel of kindness. "No one will hire me because I have no stable living arrangements, or because I don't have reliable transportation. I know it's a fair decision, or I think it is if I try to consider what they're seeing, but it doesn't mean it doesn't hurt."

It is much, much more than she intended to share.

He offers his hand, and his handshake is warm, not very firm. "I'm Luke," he finally introduces himself, and it makes her stomach churn that she's spilled secrets of her own—with fear laced through her words—before even learning his name. "What is your name?"

She swallows, unnerved even though she doesn't know why. "Rey."

There's an expectation that he'll ask about what she's said. Things like _where do you live and why don't you have a car and have you even tried_ , which are all things she's heard before. Luke smiles though, and though she's seen cruel words follow smiles, Rey has difficulty believing this is one of those times. "Have you applied here?"

The toe of her shoe knocks against the bottom of the counter, and she looks from Luke to the glass. "No. I don't know much about books, or authors."

"But you're here," Luke says, practically sings as though he's figured something out before she has. "So you must like books."

"I read," Rey keeps expecting the bell over the door to ding so this odd conversation ends. It's not the first time she's had that thought, but now when it goes through her mind again, she's not sure she wants it to end either.

"One of my foster families had a private library. The mother would allow me to go there after my chores were finished." The Strauss' had likely been the nicest family, but it hadn't worked out. They never worked out. Still, they had allowed her to curl up in a chair to flip through all the books she could read until her bags had been packed by the door. "I wouldn't have thought I was a good fit for this shop."

"Well, I'm really the judge of that." Luke pulls a cup from beneath the counter, and takes a sip. "You should apply, Rey."

She pauses, her lips parting to say something, but Rey's not entirely sure what. Instead, she sighs and lets her tensed shoulders fall. "Alright, can I get an application then?"

Luke slaps a hand down on the counter, fingerprints smudging the glass, and he chuckles when she gives a start. "You're hired, Rey. Can you start tomorrow?"

Unsure of what he's just said, Rey blinks. "I'm— _what?"_

"Hired," he repeats. "We open at nine during the week." As though it weren't bizarre enough already, Luke rummages under the counter before tossing a set of keys to her. "The big one unlocks the door. The alarm code is— Well, I'll show it to you tomorrow."

"Because you think I'll steal—" Rey mutters, and it's only because her insides are twisted up. There's no reason for him to tell her an alarm code, but she's so confused, and certain that this new opportunity will be ripped out from under her as quickly as it's presented. Luke seems fickle, perhaps his offer is too.

Luke snorts. "Absolutely not the case. No, the alarm is tricky, and it's best I show you myself. If you'd like to know that I _do_ trust you, however, the code is zero-nine-two-eight. My birthday, so now you'll have no excuse to forget."

She's halfway through a sentence. "What the—" when Luke disappears through the back, and the _fuck_ lands the moment the door is opened.

When Luke doesn't come back, she feels like he's testing her as the eccentric man he seems to be.

So Rey helps the older woman, who really helps her learn the finer parts of the erotica section.

By the time she leaves, Rey thinks her face may be permanently red, and there's still twenty dollars in her pocket.

* * *

Things happen quickly after that. So quickly, in fact, that Rey's truly not able how to process it all. Luck has never been on her side,and she's given up on the concept of it since going through years in the system—a system that does not work.

Days previously spent helping in the kitchens of the shelter are now spent organizing bookshelves with Luke. The shop is a puzzle, but she prefers it to running the register. Her nerves get to her sometimes, coupled with the fact that the only job she's ever had was in a scrap shop for Jabba—a chill runs down her spine at the name—and she certainly hadn't been running the front desk.

The end of those nerves fray, and rub together the first time she tries to count back change the way she's watched Luke do. He does it so effortlessly, and she wants to replicate exactly what he does. It's the least she can do, now that he's given her a chance. And Luke shows her how to do it privately, while pretending to be the customer so she won't grow so flustered. It's the sort of patience no one has ever shown her.

The dinging of the bell over the door becomes a sound of comfort, the way book spines feel beneath her fingers turn into waves of calm, and the reminder that she'll be there the next day gets her through restless nights of sleeping in a cot that's not very comfortable, but it's the best that can be done.

"Rey," Luke's voice causes her to turn, and he nods his head to the now opened boxes resting on the counter. "New merchandise. Care to help an old man?"

She snorts as she pivots. Luke is anything but old, and he certainly knows it. A head full of gray hair has only led to him milking it though. From saying he can't pick up a box—when he can, but he's feeling a bit lazy, though Rey doesn't mind—to asking her to type up an invoice, and to arming the alarm, it's quite clear that it's all done in an attempt to help her settle in.

It's disarming how he knows just what gets under her skin. If she had her way, Rey would stay in the back but a shake of his head placed her on the floor and she's been there ever since. She hates the computer. Typing isn't a strong suit, but her fingers find the keys with indentions on them easily now, like second nature. One mistake on the alarm sets off the alarm a month earlier, and Luke teases her for it.

And the boxes? That's due to a nerve in Luke's back that he really ought to go to a doctor for, but he's a stubborn old man.

She puts the books away in ten minutes, putting one foot in front of the other while drumming her fingers against the shelves. And when she returns, she stops as Luke's voice travels through the space between them. Rey doesn't linger. It's clear the phone call is a private one, and she picks up the worn book she's borrowed from the shop and cracks it open while leaning against the counter.

It's another rule that Luke's made up, one of a few.

1\. Rey isn't allowed to pay for books.

2\. Luke buys lunch, and since he's a gracious boss, Rey's allowed to knick treats from the secret stash under the counter. (it's not really a secret stash if someone else knows about it)

3\. Do not touch the thermostat. Sixty-eight degrees is a perfectly acceptable temperature. Wear a jacket, Rey.

4\. Rules can be added at any time.

And below those, Rey had scribbled:

5\. Rey controls the blue tooth speaker, since Luke's music is crap.

"My nephew is coming to visit soon," Luke says behind her, fingers wrapped around the end of the broom as he starts to sweep.

She nods, not really listening while she's hunched over the counter, thrilled with a current scene and the beginning of a conversation evaporates as Luke begins to hum.

* * *

Family.

 _Family_.

Her routine crashes down around her ears in early June while the sun is pouring through the windows that she's just cleaned, and Rey grips a cloth in her hands. It feels like her heart might just beat out of her chest, and her mouth is dry.

It's been so long since her mouth was too dry to speak.

"What?" The single syllable comes out, cracked and raw. Rey's fingers dig into the still damp cloth, her nails biting through thin fabric and she's certain there will be the indentions of half-moons in her palm when she finally looks. "You're leaving?" Rey wants to focus on the _other_ thing Luke said, that she's family and he wants her too—

Only, she doesn't let him get far enough to finish the phrase and all she has is the sudden fact that he has to leave.

Luke's features soften. "It won't be forever, Rey. My sister is sick, and I need to be with her right now. Leia will get better, and I may only be away for a month—"

A month.

A month of not working in the shop while he's gone. Rey cares about the sudden loss of income, but that's not really the issue. Life has a way of building up, and falling down. She's just never built herself up this far. It feels like it has to happen because that's her luck. Luke is family though, and if he's gone, then she's not sure what to do other than crumble in the loss.

"You think it will be longer than that." Rey says softly. She doesn't blame him for needing to go. After hearing his half of phone-calls with Leia, his twin, Luke needs to go. It's the only place to be, and from what little she does know, Leia is alone. Her husband already gone, she's all alone and that's no way to live.

And Rey knows that.

"Yeah," Luke sighs. "I think it will be a few months, Rey. She's unable to care for herself, and she's too stubborn to admit that."

Left with the only option to nod and accept it, Rey pulls her keys from her pocket. "If you come back, you can give these back to me. I can start putting away the most valuable things, and I'll make sure the alarm is set so nothing will happen while you're gone. I'll come by every day too, just to check on things."

He doesn't take the keys from her. Luke lifts a brow, and the corner of his mouth tugs downward. "Well, if you're going to go through that much effort, you should just run the shop for me."

It takes one, two, three seconds for his words to sink in, and another handful for her to realize that he's not joking. And then, Rey realizes that he's planned to say exactly that all along.

She feels like her legs might give out, and she'll crash to the floor.

"I think of you as family, Rey." Luke smiles. "And you love this shop, possibly more than I do. You'll take care of it for me, won't you?"

There's no other answer but a resounding _yes_. Rey nods, anxiety coiling tightly in the pit of her stomach. "I don't know how to—"

"I'll teach you." He pulls her into a hug and pats her back. "Thank you, Rey."

Rey feels like she's the one who should say that, but Luke won't hear it anyway, and she nods.

* * *

Until the day Luke leaves, the apartment that sits over the shop is something she's never seen before. As it turns out, asking her to run the shop in his place is the last of the surprises that Luke has in store. The second does make her stumble when he tells her to stay in the apartment, to make it her own while he's gone. If she likes it, he can always move. And he says it in such an offhand way, that she has to wonder if he's been planning it all along. It doesn't make sense, but it rarely does with him.

With promises to call until she's sick of him, Rey leans against the door at the sidewalk and waves goodbye to Luke. She waves because he doesn't stop, and even when the taxi makes a turn, she waves a few seconds longer as a sense of numb begins.

The apartment is minimalistic, and it looks like Luke has never slept there, much less lived there. She finds the fridge fully stocked, and a note on the counter that reminds her to eat. Luke's never commented on how thin she was when she'd stepped inside the shop that first day, probably out of politeness.

She settles in, and uses the money she's saved to buy a blanket that isn't used. Knowing Luke as well as she did, it's not odd that she now has a place to live when she'd been extremely close to her goal of a deposit on an apartment of her own. Still, she'll keep as much put back as she could so when he returns, she won't have to go back to that shelter.

Rey takes the guest room for herself, rather than Luke's. Though his things are gone, she can't help but feel strange at the thought of taking his bed. So, she curls up with a book that she paid for—because Luke isn't here to stop her, and it'll get under his skin when she tells him—and a new blanket. It's soft, the plush of it warm against her toes while she rests against the headboard. It's just a blanket, she knows, but it means something.

* * *

By the time a week passes, Rey stops feeling like an intruder in the apartment. The days pass blissfully, and she spends the day in the shop, and sometimes late into the night if she loses track of time. She's discovered a guilty pleasure in reality television, and romantic comedies that come on past midnight. Sometimes she falls asleep on the couch, and she's free to do that because she lives here.

On a night just like that, Rey's dragged from a dream by the sound of the door opening. Her heart lurches. There's the sound of rattling keys, and a muttered curse that's definitely masculine. Slowly, so slowly, Rey slides off the couch, and uses the darkness to avoid being seen. But she can see someone. A tall, hulking figure that makes her want to climb out of the window and flee down the fire escape, but she isn't going to. This is her home.

Sneaking into the kitchen, she looks to the knife block, but heavy footsteps throw her off. "Is someone in here?" The voice isn't soft, but rough. Commanding, and when she glances up, she can see the silhouette reaching for a light switch. The decision is made before she really has the time to think, but clearly her fight or flight response is still heavily centered to _fight_.

She rips a pot off the rack hanging above the island, and the wooden handle is solid, sturdy in her hand.

"Look, this will be better for you if you just come out and—" Before he can finish the sentence, Rey's hand shoots out, and she cracks the pot against the man's face.

But then there's a very real crack that belongs to bone, and Rey realizes she needs to run.

The light flicks on, and the man staring up at her is dazed. She notices black hair, his eyes narrowed to slits while he cups his nose, and the blood seeping between his fingers. And when he pulls his hand away, she sees a scar that goes across his face, and down his cheek, but somehow his eye isn't damaged too.

"Get out or I'll call the police," Rey growls, and tightens her fingers around the grip. She'll call the cops anyway, but she'd rather he already be gone.

"What the _fuck_?" It's a snarl, and he looks even angrier than before. "Who the fuck are _you_? You can't just decide to break into a fucking apartment—"

"I live here, asshole. And for someone who says you can't break into an apartment, _you_ have no problem doing it at all!" She shouldn't talk to him.

He blinks. "You—" He breaks off, and pulls his phone from his pocket.

"What are you doing?" Rey stands where her legs apart, ready to kick him if she has to.

"Maybe I'm calling the police since you assaulted me." When the phone connects, it's on speaker. "Luke," the man bites out. "Did you forget to mention that there is a girl living in your apartment, perhaps?"

Luke. He knows Luke.

Oh, God.

She knows before it's even said that this has to be Luke's nephew, and she's attacked him.

"Rey?" Luke asks. "Oh, yes. She's lovely. Have you had the chance to meet her?"

She winces. _Lovely_ , right.

"Oh, I've met her alright. Did you tell her that I was coming here?"

There's a long pause. "Leia, I know what I forgot to do today. Well, surely you got there before the shop closed—you didn't get there before the shop closed, did you?"

Rey answers. "No," her voice is higher than normal. "I attacked him in the dark."

"Did you win?" Luke laughs.

The nephew doesn't laugh. Or smile. Rey's not sure he even knows how.

"She broke my nose," comes a heavy sigh, and the snarl is gone. "With a _wok_."

The spluttering laugh must belong to Leia, and Rey feels her face heat. "I'm so sorry."

He waves her off, and hangs up before she has the chance to tell Luke the same. "I suppose I can't blame you, considering you thought I was breaking in."

Still, she feels terrible. "Is your nose really broken?"

This man in front of her nods, and winces as he turns his head. "Would you please put the wok down?" It clatters to the ground instantly, and the sound is sharp, shrill. "Do you mind driving me to the emergency room?"

She can't very well say no, and she does know how to drive. But Rey doesn't have a license and that feels like a vulnerability she's not willing to share yet. "Of course," Rey nods. "I'm sorry, again. About your nose—"

He finds a rag in the drawer, like he already knows where everything is, and that's unnerving. "I'm just glad you didn't grab the knife."

 _God_. "Who are you? You're Luke's nephew, but he never told me a name."

"Ben."

She repeats it, and he gives her an odd look. "Since he didn't call you, Luke left me to tell you that I'm living here over the summer. He asked me to help out with the shop, but he neglected to mention it would be a team effort."

There's a ringing in her ears. Her space has only been hers for a week, a single blissful week, and Rey's stomach drops. "You're living here?"

Despite the blood, he arches a brow. "Is that a problem?"

Yes, of course it's a problem, but this is Luke's home. Not hers, no matter how many blankets she buys, or how many nights she spends watching reality television. "No," Rey says. "The entire summer?"

The start of what looks to be a smile tugs at the edge of his mouth. She wonders what it would look like if he did smile, but she doesn't find out, and she drives this stranger— _Ben—_ to the hospital in the middle of the night. She has to explain his broken nose when he mutters, " _Ask her,"_ while a nurse looks at him every chance she gets. Up and down.

And when he comments on her driving, and how she takes turns like a bat out of hell, Rey makes sure to hit a pothole.

She's hesitant still, and she locks the door to her room.

While hoping the next day will be better, Rey's pretty sure this is only the end in the beginning, the start of the way the ground continues to shift beneath her feet.

* * *


	2. two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today is mcal's birthday, and I can confidently say I would be completely adrift without her. Love you, Mae. 
> 
> If there are any errors, they're on me. I wrote this in one go after spending most of the day studying. If there are any embarrassing typos, please don't be afraid to tell me.

The tentative peace that comes with apologizing for attacking him ends the next morning when Ben takes the bathroom for himself for a total _thirty-two_ minutes, disrupting the routine Rey’s created for herself. It wouldn’t be so bad if it wasn’t for the fact that now she actually _has_ a routine. She wakes at half past six—Rey’s never been one to sleep in, anyway—showers by seven, and _then_ she eats breakfast.

  
  


But this walking tree of a man puts her coffee pot on, and drinks most of it for himself before hopping in the shower. While hoping he’ll fall while he’s in there, maybe knock himself in the head hard enough to reset whatever switch turned him into an asshole as a child, Rey glares at the coffee pot. It isn’t even placed back inside the coffee maker, and hesitantly she presses a finger to the smooth edge of the glass. It’s _cold_.

  
  


It’s cold, and Ben Solo is an absolute bastard.

  
  


By the time he emerges from the bathroom, there’s a towel wrapped around his waist and water droplets rolling off the ends of his dark hair. If Rey weren’t so angry, maybe she would have taken the longer moment to look him over. However, she’s furious and the fact that he’s Luke’s nephew may not be enough to save him from that. “Why did you leave the coffee on the counter?”

  
  


The muscles in his back move as he turns to glance at her. The corner of Ben’s mouth twitches as he looks at her, so much shorter than him with a towel bundled in her arms, and slippers on her feet. “I believe that’s where coffee goes.”

  
  


She wants to hit him—again. Perhaps once more would get the irritation out of her system, but she knows deep down that’s not the case. No. If Rey hits him again, she’ll only want to do it again the next time he makes an ass out of himself. “You left the pot on the counter, and it got cold.”

  
  


“Sorry.”

  
  


Rey’s intake of breath is sharp, and she watches as his eyes narrow on her. “Look, just please don’t do that again.”

  
  


Ben shrugs. “Sure. You could just heat it up—”

  
  


Realistically—honestly—the shrill sound that rips free of her _is_ an overreaction. “Coffee isn’t good if you reheat it!”

  
  


He looks like he might laugh at her with the way his lips twitch again, and the slight shudder to his bare shoulders.

  
  


And Rey wishes she didn’t recognize these things about him, but she’s always been observant. Homes that aren’t really your own would do that to you, and it means the difference between being on guard, and someone using your distractions against you. She’s not fond of surprises.

  
  


A smile curves Ben’s lips. “If cold coffee is the worst thing you’ve ever had to deal with, I think you’ll be fine.”

  
  


The way her stomach rolls burns her insides. This man in front of her doesn’t know a single thing about her, and he doesn’t need to. Rey hopes he catches the way her entire body locks down, the way she looks away from him before she combusts.

  
  


And she hopes he feels like shit about it.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Whether or not Ben feels badly is yet to be determined. To be fair, she has no idea if he realizes he should feel bad. Considering he doesn’t know her, Rey doubts it. By noon on the first day, she’s calmed down anyway. She’s even considering apologizing for lashing out over something as simple as a pot of coffee.

  
  


Rey tries to be nice. In fact, she makes polite conversation of how Luke taught her how to count back change. She admits it seems like a silly thing to have struggled with, but the corner of his mouth curves when she says it, and Rey doesn’t feel so embarrassed anymore.

  
  


Then she realizes Ben is shelving the books wrong. With the intent to be polite so they can maintain a delicate peace, Rey tells him it’s in the wrong spot. “It goes over there,” Rey says. “In the new release section.”

  
  


Ben stares at her, brows drawing together as he does. “No, it can’t go there.”

  
  


The instant rejection of what she’s said causes her blood to rise, and any attempt to be civil is immediately rejected. “I think I would know where it goes,” Rey spits, and at least the store is empty right now. “Luke taught me everything about this store before he left and—” Being cut off is more annoying than arguing, so of course he cuts her off. Right in the middle of a sentence.

  
  


“How long have you been working here?”

  
  


Her defense rushes in, and while it’s all metaphorical, she can sense the difference between now and moments ago. “A few months,” It’s the only answer to give, but then he scoffs. It’s slight, and under his breath, but she’s not quite prepared for the way it hurts to be dismissed. Not that she’s going to tell him that.

  
  


“Look,” Ben’s voice is rough and it grows shallower as he picks up a heavy box. “You seem nice, and I’m sure my uncle has a reason to like you.” The _but-I-don’t see-it_ hung in the air. “However, there are facts, and a _fact_ is that I worked in this shop every summer, and every weekend until I left for university. I’m well aware of how it’s meant to be run. If you have an issue with that, it’s Luke you need to take it up with, not me. Until then though, I’m going to continue doing this how it’s meant to be done.”

  
  


It’s no sooner than he’s turned away from her that Rey grumbles under her breath.

  
  


“If you’re going to insult me, you might as well say it where I can hear you.”

  
  


Clearing her throat, she explains that it isn’t an insult at all. “The reason those go in the new release section is because those are new covers. There’s a new movie adaptation. I just figured you would know merchandising is important, being a university student.” Maybe part of it’s an insult, but she can’t bring herself to regret her words.

  
  


“You could have led with that,” Ben looks to the now stocked shelf, and pinches the bridge of his nose.

  
  


Folding her arms over her chest, Rey nods her head toward the front of the store. “I didn’t realize I would have to explain myself. You could have trusted me.”

  
  


Rey doesn’t know what’s worse: the fact that he doesn’t say anything at all—implying that he doesn’t trust her at all—or the fact that she cares.

  
  


* * *

  
  


When Luke calls the store late at night a few days later, Rey’s alone. As far as she knows, and hopes, Ben is upstairs while hogging the tv remote, and she’s decided to read in the shop until she’s finally tired. Luke tells her hello, and he asks her if she’s been following the rules.

  
  


And she tells him she hasn’t followed them at all.

  
  


“In fact,” she continues airily, knowing it’ll irritate him. “I’ve paid for seven books.”

  
  


Luke splutters. “ _Seven?_ I’ve been gone for five days!”

  
  


It is the only point she considers lying, but she doesn’t. “If I don’t distract myself somehow, I may dent another pan on your nephew’s face.”

  
  


There’s a distinct laughter in the background, and it sounds like bells. “That does sound like Ben. I’m sure he deserves it if you’re avoiding him.”

  
  


Clearly, Luke has placed this call on speaker, and Leia has a front row seat to a vent about her own _son._ Rey struggles to say anything. “Sorry, I didn’t mean—”

  
  


“Don’t apologize.” Leia’s voice is warm. “I love my son, Rey but I’m not oblivious to the fact that his attitude can leave several things to be desired. If he’s an ass, tell him he’s an ass. There aren’t many people who are willing to argue with him.”

  
  


Probably because Ben Solo is the size of a tree, and anyone would be intimidated by the sheer size of him. Broad shouldered, and— “Then he probably hates that I’ve done it multiple times now even more.”

  
  


There’s another laugh from Luke, from his sister, and Rey feels as though she’s been invited into a private moment. “Good on you,” Luke says. “How’s the shop?”

  
  


“Ben thinks he knows more about it than I do.”

  
  


“Ah, I trust you told him otherwise.”

  
  


She tells him about it, and Rey thinks Ben may be lingering at the top of the stairs. She wonders if he wants to speak to his other, but he never comes, if he’d been there at all.

  
  


* * *

  
  


A calm settles over the shop, and even the apartment above it just in time for a storm to roll in. Rey sits in the windowsill with a worn copy of Pride and Prejudice opened in her lap, and the glass is cool to the side of her face. It’s a good day, made even better by the fact that Ben isn’t in the apartment either. He’s gone to the convenience store down the street for something—maybe she ought to have listened, but her default switch is to ignore him now—and she’ll see him as he returns.

  
  


She’s to Mr. Collin’s proposal to Lizzie when the door cracks open. Rey doesn’t look up. Rather, she sighs and leans further into the window, into the cold glass that seeps through the thin layer of her sweatshirt. With the bookshop having closed two hours ago, she thinks she’ll spend most of the night in this spot, reading until her eyes begin to burn, but then Rey’s stomach growls.

  
  


Rey marks her spot, and leaves it in the window. As she pads into the kitchen, through a small entryway with her socks sliding against the tile, Rey freezes mid-step at the sight of him. It’s clear that he doesn’t hear the way her breath catches, and he certainly doesn’t notice the way her hands ball into fists at her sides. And even if he _had_ , Ben doesn’t seem like the sort of man who would realize the boundaries he’s overstepped.

  
  


The journal is flipped open from earlier. She doesn’t write in it anymore, and hasn’t in over two weeks now, but the rough tally marks are still dug into the page. Rey had looked over it a while ago, just as a reminder from how far she’s come. Maybe it’s her fault for leaving it out, but even if he’d only noticed it as she entered the room, there’s no excuse for how long he’s stared at it now.

  
  


Or the way his fingers brush over the page.

  
  


He has the audacity to look shocked when she snatches it away, and Ben’s brows furrow. His mouth opens, just in time for him to say something, but she smoothly cuts him off.

  
  


“You had no right.” It’s a loaded statement, and he can’t possibly understand why she’s so angry, or what he’s done, but none of that matters to her. “Do you make a habit of looking at things that don’t belong to you?”

  
  


“Maybe you shouldn’t have left it out,” Ben shrugs. “What is it, anyway?”

  
  


She takes the bag of chips from the counter, a bottle of water, and lets the slamming of her door answer his question. It’s only after sitting on her bed that she’s realized her book is still in the window, and Rey’s pride beats out the need to get it.

  
  


* * *

  
  


“You should talk to her.”

  
  


_It’s none of my business. It’s none of my business. It’s none of my business._

  
  


Ben counts down the till, his brows knitting together as he counts the daily deposit. It’s not until he’s slid the money into the overnight bag that he says anything at all, and by then, she’d thought he wasn’t going to. “What are you talking about?”

  
  


Rey should let it go. His strained relationship with his mother is none of her business, and honestly, she’s projecting the feelings of wishing she could have what he does, onto his actions. It’s not fair, but he’s daring her now by the way his eyes narrow on her. When they darken, it sets off her nerves just like it does every time. Clearing her throat, she says, “Your mother.”

  
  


He says nothing. Ben’s hands curl into fists at his sides—a trait she’s recognized in herself—and his lips press into a thin line. “That’s really none of your business.”

  
  


“I know.” Saying it only re-enforces it, but here she is. “When Luke calls, she talks sometimes. She seems nice.”

  
  


“She is.” It’s a sigh, and she wonders if he’s turned away from her because if he doesn’t, she might see emotions flicker across his face. The thought is hard to imagine. Even so, she bets the only thing there is anger, and Rey knows exactly what that looks like.

  
  


“She’s sick.” Rey eggs it on, and grimaces when he finally does turn. “That—that did not come out the way it was meant to. I know she’s sick, and I just—if you’re going to be _here_ , and not _there_ , shouldn’t you talk to her?”

  
  


His knuckles turn white as he grips the counter. “Was that meant to sound better?” Ben is deflecting. She recognizes it as she does with so many things about him. Maybe that’s why he pisses her off so much—they’re too much alike. “Why are you asking me about this?”

  
  


Rey can’t tell him the truth—that she wishes she had a mother so badly that she’s pushing those feelings onto him. “Luke is important to me. Leia is important to him, and _you_ , well, you seem important to Leia.”

  
  


“Is that to say that _I’m_ important to you?” He looks her over, eyes lingering on her fingers that are so tightly laced together.

  
  


“Stop dodging the—”

  
  


“ _Then stop asking.”_ Even though he’s angry, it’s the first time he’s let that seep into his voice. And his words are much more reminiscent of a snarl.

  
  


“You’re right,” Rey blurts. “It’s none of my business, and contrary to whatever you believe, I didn’t say this to make you angry. I know that I wish I had the chance to talk to my mother, or my father. And I can’t imagine letting a chance like that go when it’s in front of me, so I can’t see why you—”

  
  


In a step, Ben’s towering over her. If he expects her to flinch, he’s going to be disappointed, but as his hands brace against the shelf over her head, a chill slithers down her spine. “I’m not avoiding my mother for the fucking _fun_ of it. I’m well aware of how sick she is, and I don’t need a girl I hardly know to remind me of it.”

  
  


“I’m sorry—”

  
  


“But since you clearly want to stick your nose where it doesn’t belong—I’ll tell you. She. Doesn’t. Want. To. See. Me.”

  
  


Leia’s talked about him. About falling off a bike when his father let him go for the first time. About a broken wrist. She’s asked whether he still hates green beans, and Rey told her she wouldn’t know.

  
  


What Ben’s saying… It doesn’t line up with what she already knows.

  
  


“Has she asked to talk to me?”

  
  


“You haven’t given her a chance.” Rey says.

  
  


He leans toward her, breath hot when it blows past her ear. Up close, she can see the detailing of his scar, and the way it goes through his eyebrow. “I’m sure she’s talked about me, but has she asked to speak with me?”

  
  


_How can she when she knows you’ll shoot it down?_ The answer is no. Leia’s never asked outright for Rey to hand him the phone, and her silence confirms that. “She loves you.”

  
  


“Just let it go. I can’t imagine why you’re holding on—”

  
  


Neither can she.

  
  


“I’m not going to explain it to you,” Ben says finally as he begins to pull away from her, the heat of his body disappearing with him.

  
  


When he’s gone, Rey decides to take care of the deposit. The walk to the bank to the overnight drop will help her clear her head.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Something has to give.

  
  


Eventually, one of them has to relent. They can’t possibly fight forever, right? Right? These questions run through her mind most mornings as one days begins to bleed into another. He’s hardly spoken to her since their…altercation. Really, Rey’s not sure what to call it. He’d been angry, and she’d been nosy, but it hadn’t really been a fight.

  
  


Ben isn’t rude, but there’s something simmering just beneath his skin, and she knows it’s only a matter of time before one of them boils over. Rey isn’t sure which would be worse—for it to be her, or for it to be him.

  
  


It happens as they’re closing on a Saturday, after the busiest day of the week. He’s already irritated after a customer demanded to return a book, and Ben had refused on the grounds that the pages were dog-eared up until the last chapter. She has to admit, his quip of ‘ _have you ever heard of a library?’_ had landed viciously well.

  
  


“The drawer is short,” Rey looks to him where he’s locking the door. “Do you remember a transaction for twenty dollars and some change?”

  
  


“Nearly every single one today. You’re going to have to be more specific.” There’s a sharpness to his voice, an unstable edge she cannot possibly balance on because either way, she’ll fall. “Besides, I wouldn’t forget to charge someone.”

  
  


The accusation sets her off. “God, you’re such an ass. Even if you _did_ forget—and I didn’t say you did—it would be a simple mistake. It happens.”

  
  


He bristles at the insult.

  
  


And then she can’t stop. Or maybe she just chooses not to. “It could have just as easily happened while you were arguing with that man! You were ringing up customers while he was here.”

  
  


Ben rounds the corner, and brushes her off while dropping the drawer on top of the counter. He drops it hard enough that all the coins rattle. “Are you sure you know how to count?”

  
  


It’s like cold water being dumped over her head and his face pales as she stills. Instantly, Rey regrets telling him about Luke teaching her how to count the money. Whether it be counting change back, or counting the till.

  
  


And just as quickly, Ben realizes the line he’s crossed.

  
  


They’ve been pushing boundaries for days now, but this is where they boil over.

  
  


She thought it would be her.

  
  


“Rey,” His eyes widen, and Ben’s face softens. “Wait—”

  
  


She does no such thing.

  
  


* * *

  
  


It’s not so long after, perhaps an hour, that Ben finds her sitting on the sofa. In fact, he’s barely taken two steps inside before blurting that he’s sorry. Desperation is evident in that apology, and it means something, but Rey’s tired of looking at everything so closely.

  
  


Maybe tomorrow.

  
  


But he doesn’t leave like she expects. “I’m sorry,” Ben says again, and he stands in front of the television before bending down to mute it for good measure. “It was my fault.”

  
  


She blinks.

  
  


“You were right. While I was arguing with him, I couldn’t get the drawer to open. I slid a twenty dollar bill into the slot of the till. Neither of us looked there because we were already arguing. I’m sorry—for what I said. I shouldn’t have said it.”

  
  


Rey nods. “Thanks. I appreciate that.” It’s all she has the effort for, but _still_ , he doesn’t leave.

  
  


And he doesn’t give the remote back either.

  
  


“We got off on the wrong foot.”

  
  


She pulls on a string of fabric sticking out of the couch. “Do you mean when I broke your nose?”

  
  


“No, I meant when I acted like an ass.” Ben rocks back on his heels.

  
  


Rey doesn’t bother to hold back her retorts anymore. “Which time?”

  
  


“You know, I’m trying really hard to be nice to you, but you’re making it extremely difficult.” Light cuts through the room, arcing across his middle, and his face is still the softest she’s ever seen it.

  
  


She sighs. “I’m sorry.”

  
  


“We’ll be better off if we start off with a clean slate—if you’re willing, that is.”

  
  


His comment is still burrowed under her skin, but Rey agrees before she can consider not to. “Anything would be better than fighting each other constantly.” It’s in the choice to start over, that Rey offers something. “The tally marks in the notebook were all the nights I stayed in the women’s shelter.”

  
  


Ben is already at the edge of the room, and he hesitates before turning back to her. She doesn’t expect him to say anything about what she’s shared.

  
  


She’ll even go as far to say that she hopes he doesn’t say anything.

  
  


“My father died when I was younger,” he breathes. “I remind my mother of it. When she looks at me, she sees him. She’s reminded that he’s gone.”

  
  


“And that’s why you’re not with her.” Rey doesn’t offer an opinion—that’s not what this shared moment is about—but she knows there’s more to this story.

  
  


He swallows, his throat moving with the motion, and slides his hands into his pockets. “Do you want pizza? I’ll buy.”

  
  


She nods.

  
  


“You mind driving?”

  
  


Heat floods her cheeks. “I don’t actually have my license. There weren’t many opportunities, and when I drove you to the hospital, I wasn’t in the position to say no.”

  
  


Ben snorts, and the air is the lightest it’s felt in weeks. “Right, I’ll drive then.”

  
  


She meets him at the door.

  
  


The earth shifts under her feet again when he smiles as she trips over a wrinkle in the carpet. Then she grins, and it’s not until hours later when she’s in bed that Rey realizes she hadn’t stopped smiling.

  
  


Not when they watched reality television—her choice—together and not when he stole the last piece of pizza.

  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> If you read, I'd love to know what you thought! You can find me on tumblr under mrsren too!


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